


From Shadow

by Sanctified_Jasper



Series: Coda of Thrones [6]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Battle of Winterfell alternate ending, DO NOT POST TO AN UNOFFICIAL APP, Do not post to another site, Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Episode: s08e03 The Long Night - alternate ending, Fix-It of Sorts, fixing one scene by making everything MUCH worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 07:15:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20720240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctified_Jasper/pseuds/Sanctified_Jasper
Summary: Arya fights a White Walker in the Godswood, (just not the one she meant to,) while Jon fights his way to her side.





	From Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Continues on from Obsidian Eye and Obsidian Dream

Arya sprints, leaps, and soars through the air, her valyrian steel dagger in hand.

The Night King turns, reacting to her presence faster than she thought he would.

He reaches up and she twists her body as best as she can, and manages to tumble just out of his expecting grip.

She lands awkwardly and rolls into it as best as she can. Something brittle, cold and prickly stabs into her neck, like when she'd been a child and stuck her hand unwittingly into a patch of nettles.

She reaches back even as she darts away from the Night King, who pulls his weapon from his back, turning to keep her in his sight. Her hand grips and pulls, bringing whatever had pricked her forward into her line of sight.

Her eyes flicker to her hand.

It's her hair, frozen solid.

He'd almost managed to grab her by her hair.

She sneers and lunges, knocking his ice blade aside as he tries to stab her, sliding the sharp tip away from its target. Arya spins under his next swing, stepping around him to find an opening at his unprotected back, but the White Walker turns too fast and closes the gap.

Their weapons clash, once, twice, three times, Arya on the defensive, using efficient motions to sway the icy blade away from her body.

She manages to block him, sidestep him.

She's learning his rhythm, and then...

The opening she's been waiting for, she darts forward, scoring a slicing hit on his armour.

He moves back before the knife can pierce his protection completely and cut skin, but something ripples over him, like she's managed to tear away a membrane of some kind that she hadn't been able to see.

Distantly she can hear a voice calling out, the shattering crunch of ice.

'Jon', she realises, 'he's coming for the Night King.'

But the White Walker before her was no longer the Night King, no crown of spiny horns on a bald white-blue head, but a braid of thick white hair.

He lunges, expecting make use of Arya's shock, but she's faster than he thought and slams the knife up, finally catching the ice blade just so.

It shatters, spraying over them both.

The White Walker releases the useless shaft of his weapon and grabs for her arm, catching it at an awkward angle.

“Arya!” She startles, surprised by Jon's sudden closeness. (But not close enough.) An almost fatal mistake as the White Walker uses her brief distraction to grab her by the neck. She can feel her arm growing numb from the cold, a counterpoint to the sharp stabbing at her neck.

Before she looses all control of her hand, she lets go of her knife, catching it with her free hand and driving it up into the White Walkers gut.

He shatters, several chucks of ice pelting Arya hard enough to bruise, and she drops to the ground coughing. The unnatural cold in her arm might be receding, or her nerves might be beyond saving, she doesn't know, but Jon is stumbling to kneel down beside her.

“Arya! Are you alright?”

She nods and coughs, pulling down her collar to reveal the sewn shard of obsidian which had cut her neck, but seemed to have stopped the ice from freezing her throat, and tries to push him to Bran, who watches them with a horrified look on his face.

If the situation weren't so dire, she might have felt a smug victory at the emotion that finally, _finally_, marred his stony face.

“That... I don't...” Bran's face warped with confusion, “no, it had to be...”

His eyes turn white.

“Bran!” Jon demands, and their brother replies with a wavering voice.

“The Night King... **_he's gone south_**!”

* * *

Along the shores of King's Landing, thousands upon thousands of dead walk out of the ocean.


End file.
